Yesterday Kevin and I saw Wanted, the new movie with Angelina Jolie and what’s-his-face… James McAvoy. It’s filmed in Chicago, and the whole time I’m seeing places I know; I know exactly how it feels to step around that corner with the Irish pub, or hear the el grind along next to your window. So maybe the movie’s location compounded the Superpower Effect, as I call it: Any time I see a movie where people have mad fighting skillz (like The Matrix, or Kill Bill, or Spiderman even), I leave the movie and think my body should be able to act like that. Like, maybe there’s some switch I forgot to turn on that lives just below the skin on my abdomen and can be activated by pressing my belly button just right, ready to turn me into one of those people who can kick a lot of ass and floss their teeth at the same time. So I have to sorta talk to myself as we’re leaving the theater and popcorn is crunching underfoot and teenagers are jostling each other out the door, and tell myself in a firm but soothing internal conversation: No. You do not have superpowers. It sucks, I know, you want to be able to curve a bullet with your mind and knock out the bad guy with a kick in the jaw and walk away all casual — like man, you could really use a cheeseburger. But you’re here. In Chicago. Without superpowers. And getting on the escalator in the lobby suddenly seems like the lamest form of transportation ever. Worse when Kevin rides down by lifting himself, like a gymnast on those parallel bars, no feet on the moving stairs, and I’m totally spooked out, because for another nanosecond I think we can fly and kick and walk up walls… and then I remember, again, that we’re not in the movie.